Quiet
by Freya-Kendra
Summary: A Sentinel without his Guide faces a disturbing silence. This is an angsty piece with a fair dose of comfort at the end.


Quiet

by Freya-Kendra

* * *

Summary: A Sentinel without his Guide faces a disturbing silence. This is an angsty piece with a fair dose of comfort at the end.

Special Note: Original online posting, October, 2004. The opening paragraphs inspired another fic writer to follow a different road to Jim's silent predicament. Judy's fic, "Quiet Reflection" can be found at the following link: /~

* * *

**Quiet**

It was quiet. Too quiet. Of course, for a Sentinel it was never really quiet in the literal sense. But for Jim, for that moment, he felt cocooned in a solemn and empty silence. What he could hear lacked significance -- an angry, old man complaining about the cost of gas at the station a block away; a young woman flirting with the neighbor's son. What he couldn't hear was his own roommate's annoying, endless chatter about things that had no discernable value at all.

That was what was missing. That was what he missed.

When the phone rang, the sudden noise jolted him, sending his heart into overdrive. He pounced like a cat alerted to the sudden vulnerability of its prey.

"Simon?" He answered quickly, not bothering with greetings.

There was no immediate response, just the slight clicking of a machine switching channels -- the tell-tale sound of an automated telemarketer. In a moment he'd be greeted by either a recorded sales pitch, or by a real person delivering a prepared speech.

Jim didn't have time for that sort of nonsense. But what if it was something else? On the outside chance he was about to be given the information he needed from a source as yet unknown, he stayed on the line.

"Hello," A person finally said. "I'm calling for a Mr. James Ellison."

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"Mr. Ellison, how are you today?"

"Who is this?"

"Mr. Ellison, I'm calling on behalf of CountryBank Cards, and in our appreciation of your long-standing account with us, we'd like to offer you--"

Jim angrily clicked off the receiver and tightened his grip. Part of him wanted to crush the phone into a million pieces or put all of his strength into throwing it out the window. Another, more rational part knew he didn't dare destroy the thing that might represent his only remaining link to his missing friend.

He forced himself to take a calming breath. Closing his eyes, he tried to let his mind reach out, to enable his thoughts to focus on a remembered voice, the feel of a gentle hand at his back. But it was all too vague, too distant. A memory that should still be fresh seemed faded, as though it was part of a past already too far removed from his current life to still have substance. Not even the ghost of Blair Sandburg was within his reach anymore.

Sighing under the heaviness that settled across his shoulders, Jim let his gaze wander past the packed duffle bag waiting by the door. He looked instead into the kitchen, drawn there by a hunger brought about more by instinct than desire. The warrior must always be ready. Part of being ready meant being rested and well fed. After all, a worn and starved Sentinel would be useless whenever the call finally came.

What if that call, when it did come turned out to be one of condolence rather than a call to action? Then he would be prepared for a different action. He would become the warrior in truth, no longer protective, no longer defensive; he would become the prowling cat, starved for revenge.

* * *

Jim came awake in an instant. He did a quick scan of the loft with all of his senses on full alert before discerning that he was still alone, and the only potential threat was the one that waited on the other end of his ringing phone. It was 3AM.

"Ellison," He answered tersely.

"Jim?" The voice sounded worn, utterly drained, both emotionally and physically.

"Blair? Where are you? What happened?"

"Jim? I'm sorry, man. I didn't.... I never thought...."

"I know, Chief. I know. Just tell me where you are. Are you okay? You didn't--"

"I'm fine, Jim. I'd like to sleep for about a week," His friend said in a weak attempt at lightheartedness. "But I'm fine."

"Blair...," Jim paused. "They found Professor Martin and--"

"I know." Blair interrupted, his voice wavering, strained. "I was there. I saw it all. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I couldn't ...."

"But they never had you? We didn't know...."

"No, they never had me. Some of the students and I ... we hiked up to another site, a couple miles further into the jungle. We could hear the gunfire from there. I told them to get out, to go straight to the embassy, and I went back to the main camp to see what happened."

"That much I do know, Chief. They made it. But they didn't know what happened to you. No one knew anything."

"I tried to follow them for a while. But ... I couldn't do anything to help, Jim." The voice began to waver again. "I couldn't do anything without giving away my position."

"You did exactly the right thing by staying hidden, Blair."

"It didn't feel very right when I saw them kill--"

"They would've killed you, too, Sandburg."

For a long while, there was no response. "I know.... Just like they killed everyone else."

"I'm sorry, Blair." Jim offered with compassion. "They weren't after money. They went against all the usual patterns for kidnapping. All they were interested in was setting an example. There was nothing you could have done. It's a miracle enough that you managed to keep yourself alive. And you made sure the others got to safety in time. You did everything right on this one, Chief."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Well you damn well better believe it. You're alive, Blair. That's what matters."

While another moment passed in silence, Jim struggled to get beyond a wave of almost overpowering relief. _You're alive, Blair. That's all that matters_.

"Sandburg," He said then. "Where are you now?"

"I'm, uh... I'm at the embassy. There's no place anywhere else that's even remotely safe around here."

"You're in good hands there, Chief." Finally, Jim allowed himself to smile. He even allowed himself to share a small amount of his relief. "I can't even begin to tell you how relieved that makes me feel," He offered honestly. "You'll be back home in no time."

"Home," Blair drew out the word, seeming to emphasize a desperate yearning. "Jim, man, I can't even begin to tell you how good that sounds to me right now."

"Hang in there, Chief. You're already halfway there."

"I wish that were true, Jim. I really do." He paused, signaling to Jim the full sincerity of his words. "At least I'm not in the jungle anymore."

"What?" Jim quipped, hoping to ease the ache he could hear in his friend's voice. "Are you telling me you don't like all those mosquitoes and mites and snakes and ...."

And, finally, Jim could hear the sound of relieved laughter coming from the other end of the line. On the verge of a sob, it was a welcome sound nonetheless. It wasn't until moments later that Blair was able to respond.

"Hey, Jim?" He asked with an uncertain expectancy, sounding almost like a nervous child afraid to really believe it was Santa Clause he was speaking to. "I hope you don't mind if I stick around for a while now. I mean, a long while. Because, you know, I ... I really don't think I'll be going on any more digs anytime soon."

"That's good to know, Buddy. That's good to know."

When Jim hung up the phone he had to close his eyes against the emotion that threatened to escape his long-standing barriers. The loft was still disturbingly quiet. But at least it was a temporary problem. And that really was a very good thing to know.

~ end~


End file.
